


The Travelling Mudfish

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-04
Updated: 2006-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Weather Mishap Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Travelling Mudfish

"Okay, could, you know, someone inform me _whose_ idea it was to take that particular shortcut in the middle of a thunderstorm?"

"It was Patrick's."

"Thanks, guys. Thanks. I just hope we all took note of that. That had been Patrick's idea. Let's all write this down in our journals, cool?"

"Pete."

"Yes, Patrick, my little mudfish?"

"Shut the fuck up."

*

Andy had peered doubtfully at the line that Patrick was tracing in excitement. Here...and _here_. Just drive here, cut through here, take this road right here, no, not that one, this one, and then hitch the left, then take another left and BAM! Look at that, just look at _that_ , right in the middle of the town they were next booked to show in. Awesome. Could save them three, maybe four hours. And it would be fun. Adventurous, right?

"I dunno," Pete said slowly, and everyone turned to stare at him incredulously. Wow. Pete was being...cautious. "I mean. Maybe we should cancel and just stay the night here. That storm ahead sounds bad from what I hear on the radio."

"Oh my god, Pete," Patrick laughed, folding the map (entirely along the wrong creases; Andy took it from him and re-folded it properly). "Come on. It's just a little rain. What's the worse that could happen?"

*

"The next fucking time you say 'what's the worse that can happen', remind me to kick your ass," Pete screamed over the sound of the rain pounding against the roof of the van, hanging onto the back of Andy's seat as the van rocked. Patrick made some reply, but it was lost in the desperate anger of the thunder; Andy had the wipers on at full, but to no avail. They had taken Patrick's shortcut, and he could barely see the deep twists of the downhill curving road, crawling along between large whipping tree-branches. The large heavy raindrops actually drove at them horizontally, and Patrick held onto his seatbelt grimly.

The radio was on, but very low, and a female newscaster's voice was slipping in and out of the signal.

"Flash-flood warnings in effect......County and all rural roads.....drivers advised to.....mudslide danger."

"What?" Joe said from the very backseat, smushed among the instrument cases, and Pete twisted to look at him, not releasing his hold on Andy's seat.

"She's saying Patrick's led us to our doom!" Pete turned around again and glared at the Doom-Leader in the front passenger seat. Patrick frowned in return.

"I'm SORRY, alright? We can't go back anyway, so stop the bitching and let Andy drive in peace!"

"If we had STAYED like I SAID we should, then we would be in a nice cosy bed right _now_!"

Patrick opened his mouth again but the van interrupted with a sickening hurl and wrenched to the side. Andy pulled the wheel in the other direction, as the mud, which had been beaten mercilessly by the rain, slipped from the hills down the narrow road behind them and caught up to the vehicle. The wet mass began to push the van down the hill, faster, a huge slurping mess, and Andy fought with the steering as they all jostled, and tumbled. Pete felt close to puking, and considered aiming for Patrick's lap when they came to a slow halt at the bottom of the hill, sprawled right in the middle of the road. The mud slid past them inexorably, a brown river, piling up against the panel side, and the rain, trying to be friendly, began to fall in a more vertical manner.

*

"Oh," Pete groaned as Patrick crawled over the top of the seats and into his lap. "My head. Jeez, Patrick, could you get your knee outta my spleen, please?"

"Are you okay, man?" Patrick asked, shouting in his ear over the confusing din of the rain. The mud was slipping down still, and there was a muffled crash as Joe kicked the window, and hauled himself out.  Patrick grabbed onto Pete's hands, pulling him up from where he lay on the seat, and pushed him out the window, ignoring the slivers of broken glass sliding into their hands. They stumbled into the cold mud up to their knees, the rain pulsing down on them, Andy close behind.

"Oh shhiiit...my Fender!" Patrick screeched as he hauled Pete away from the trapped vehicle towards the side of the road, where a higher banking had been formed by the rushing mud. Patrick tried hard to grip onto Pete, but the mud kept pushing, pushing.

"Fuck your guitar, man, don't you dare let me go," Pete yelled, blinded by the rain. He snatched onto Patrick's hand tighter, and reached out for Andy behind him. Patrick felt a hand grasp his t-shirt and pull, and he stepped up, feeling the mud actually trying to claim him back, but Joe simply pulled harder (straining a muscle in his shoulder), and Patrick hauled (spraining his wrist, on the strumming hand) and Pete hauled (maybe giving himself a hernia) and they were all out of the mud.

Patrick pulled at Pete's hand, and they climbed higher up the embankment, and turned to see the van being pushed further. Pete felt his heart break as the mud rose around the faithful white van. Patrick was standing against him, shivering and trying to say sorry, but Pete turned around and hugged him tight. He felt Andy and Joe join in around them, trembling, and Pete decided right there and then that the van was _bad_ , yeah, the instruments were _worse_ , but they were all four here _together_ in the driving rain among the trees. Four kids against the mud, and they _won_ , fair and square. So it was gonna be four kids against the world from now on. Travelling all _over_ the world, hell yeah.

He was suddenly a little weirded out to find Patrick's mouth pressing hotly against his neck. It wasn't really a kiss, more like an apology without words, and on top of that he was:

Terrifyingly Wet.

Horrifyingly Cold.

Disastrously Muddy.

Wonderfully Alive.

And maybe not so weirded out, 'cause Patrick's mouth actually felt really warm and nice.

*

"Yes, Officer, it was all Patrick Stump's idea to take that back road into town. Happens all the time to out-of-towners, you say? During the storm season? Well, what do you think about _that_ , my little mudfish?"

"Pete. Just, shut the fuck up."


End file.
